


multiple birds

by retronxnt



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Animal Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Cussing, Gen, Guns, Mild Blood, Short & Bitter, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26601310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retronxnt/pseuds/retronxnt
Summary: "Flyers only bite back. And for that I'm glad. Because if I was being caged by the Syndicate to be used against my will, I think I'd want to do some biting. Oh wait. I am. And I want to bite.The only downside is my perpetual lack of a mouth."Trigger warnings: cussing, blood mention, animal harm/death, rhetorical violence and generally moody topics. It isn't graphic but there are brief mentions of gory things. It's no more violent than typical for Apex.
Kudos: 7





	multiple birds

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline/lore wise, this is after The Broken Ghost but before Boosted.  
> It's quite short oops just something I was thinking about at the time of writing.   
> For those who care, there is a bit of insult towards Caustic but this is only reflective of Revenant's point of view and not my own. Please don't use this work to promote Caustic hate.

The Containment site has been abandoned for a while, said Bloodhound on the dropship a few games ago. Containment isn't the only ditched drop zone in the arena-- they keep trying to fix up King's Canyon while all these baby legends keep blowing it up. Like girlie and Skull Town, they tried to turn it into "Salvage." Whatever that means. As if it isn't resting on a million of my corpses. If I were one of  _ them _ I'd find that weird as fuck. And part of me really didn't appreciate waking up under some prehistoric cranium.

Really, though, I don't care either way. For King's Canyon or the rest of the arenas. No planet is home and I won't be feeling the Solace sun tanning my skin anytime soon.  
Ruin is so fascinating though, isn't it? Decay gets to everything eventually. If I just sat down and never moved again, my joints would rust and my legs might break. It'd be different anywhere I go, atmospheric differences, or something mildly uninteresting like that. Yet decay is the most intricate form of life. Bacteria and mold. Death kills life and life kills itself. Now that's fascinating.  
Unfortunately, we always have to mess up the natural way, right? Not we.  _ Them _ . The skin suits. Life. They think they need to tramp their big feet around and interrupt the unseen progress. I don't give a shit about studying it or evolution, or whatever delusion they want to use to justify sitting around all day and doing nothing. I just want to let it happen. If the people want to fight each other in the little safe spaces they create, let them at it. But I also say live and let die.

It's not just the skin suits, though. It seems like these flyers get awfully nosy. Infesting the arena after some baby blew up Repulsor. Apparently that happened a season before I came around. Glad I didn't have to deal with the drama. Bloodhound doesn't shut up about it. That's sidetracked - flyers. They're nosy. And it's to their own detriment. First they get captured and used by the Syndicate to drop off goodies for the skin bags to fight over. Plenty of them die that way. And that's where Containment came from, a nice little place to store the flyers like toys for their next delivery service. It didn't work well. Fleshy gremlins couldn't handle their fangs. Real shocker.

I don't care about these creatures anymore than I care about ants. Soulless and deranged, something like me. You'll never tame them or utilize them. Prowlers can behave if you treat them well, Flyers only bite back. And for that I'm glad. Because if I was being caged by the Syndicate to be used against my will, I think I'd want to do some biting.

Oh wait. I am. And I want to bite.

The only downside is my perpetual lack of a mouth.

And maybe that's what caught my eye. When I noticed one of these things got too nosy. My brainless teammates went to loot on the other side of Containment. I found myself stopped in front of a rusted container cell.

I started in a low mumble, off-comms and probably inaudible to the human ear anyway. _"Aw, birdie got caged?"_

It looked pathetic, truly. More so than any fleshy creature typically looks. It was bleeding around the jaw and it's wings weren't in any good shape. When it sensed me it started squealing and growling, like they usually do. It chomped at the bars on the cage only to recoil at the pain. It wants to bite me.

I stopped to stare at it and inspect it as it lunged at me. It was angry, most of them are now that their habitats have been repurposed. But this one probably had a few more reasons going for it. It was trapped and injured and no one was left around to care. It was completely helpless. It has a right to be pissed.

_ "Curiosity killed the Canary, you know. And there's no satisfaction out here to bring you back." _

Most of the players seem to think the flyers are more annoying than anything. They make terrible growls when you're within their range, alerting any nearby teams that you're in its personal space. Shutting them up is only louder. The skin suits seem to get a kick out of messing with them for the loot drops. I can't say I care.  
Hence, I don't know why I froze. I do often, lately, but now I had something to really think about. I try not to be poetic. There's nothing charming about life and there's nothing metaphorical about suffering. Yet some internal gears were whirring at the sight of this forsaken beast.

It's nothing but a caged bird. It doesn't mean anything.  
But, I guess I relate. 

_"Bye-bye, birdie,"_ I whispered even more unintelligibly than before. I put it out of its misery as I looked away at the sky.

My single gunshot alerted my squad mates to my position. Probably alerted other squads too. A voice said the Ring was closing. I let the Flatline in my hand hang low as I rested my vision back down towards the beast. Finally free. If I had such a thing as "fun," then I certainly always got a kick out of messing with humans who think they're invincible, pulling apart their most inner mechanisms like a broken watch. But this creature… There wasn't anything fun about that. I heard big footsteps approach me.

"Are you coming, dear vulture? Or do you need more time to waste holding congress with a test animal?" I hear a stuck-up, mask-muffled, ugly little voice call from behind. I sigh and whistle as I straighten out my spine.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you?" I raised my voice adequately so Caustic could hear, turning my head slightly only to vocalize. I didn't have any need to dignify him with a glance. "I'll watch the little birdie long as I want. Just like I watched all of you 'hold congress' like some kind of self righteous coup, all against a singular little vulture. You must care so much. But for all I care, the Ring can nip your ass."

"Watch your tongue, Sim, you're no different from the lab animals to me."

Not that tongueless feeling again. This bitch always finds a good way to get inside your head. Lucky for me, mine is buried somewhere far away on Psamathe. Only person getting in there is the one I let. And if I recall correctly, Mr. Hotshit didn't do a whole lot to help her find it.

"Shut it. You'll be lucky to still have your tongue if you so much as breathe on me." I snap to face him as he stands there, adamantly crossing his arms. He's always an asshole but I've never seen him so full of pride. He shows no minuscule hesitancy, only holding his head high as if he didn't need to look up to meet my eyes. Neither of us advance. The system analyzes his expression and searches for files, only drawing blanks on either end. And that'll be the only thing about him that will ever really bother me: I won't know which family to haunt when I break his neck someday. He lets out a sarcastic chuckle with a twisted kind of smile in his eyes. 

"You just have no idea who you're talking to."

"Important, are we? Your petty pass time is nothing compared to the massacres _ I  _ make for fun. Stop talking to me." I immediately started walking away. I don't have time for this. Of course he idiotically continues. Apparently he has all day.

"Very well. I'll remember your attitude when you're in need of allies."

**_"I don't need you."_ **

In fact, I hate you. But hate must mean I care, and I've got bigger fish to cry about.

Everyone in this damn game talks to me like I'm a  _ fly _ . They treat their fucking dear old doctor with more dignity than me, far more than he deserves. They don't know what they're doing. And I can't even make them pay, in this dimension.  
It's the mere concept of being othered or maybe the fact that I don't like them back, whatever it is, it suddenly gave everyone the right to defy me. How little do they know? Their petty play pretend kills-- let alone  _ mercies,  _ are absolutely  _ nothing  _ to me. And how the hell do they not know that? I broadcast the execution of that bumbling Hammond bootlicker on live air, I know for damn sure they've seen it, and there's no other reason I'm even here. But they're oh so sly, so confident I wouldn't dare to hurt a "teammate" or a "Legend." Titles mean even less, even stick-up-his-ass Caustic knows that.

I want them to suffer, badly. Maybe that's why I hate not knowing a thing about Caustic. If I can't kill him, it's a hundred times easier to kill the ones he loves. Yet it would seem he doesn't love anyone, and even if he does and he's hiding them, I can't find them. I think the truth is he's just hiding himself, not uncommon for most of these "Legends." He did it quite well. To the point he believes it. Now, that's what bothers me. I can cry wolf about how much I don't care. But somewhere, deep inside a crater in Psamathe, I will admit I do care. About revenge, hatred, my nine lives extended past what I ever desired, the birds, Hammond. I care  _ a lot. _ Someday, I'll get to treat them all like the fodder the Hammond suits are to me. All of them will suffer eventually if not by my claws. But is it really suffering if they don't get to feel it a thousand times? I'm so uniquely alone, aren't I?   
At least one less bird no longer knows suffering. I wish I could assimilate them into the shadows… but if the program stopped working on me, it'll never work on them. Some things are better left free.

Birds are made to fly, and after all, we're not the same by design.


End file.
